Between the Shadow and the Soul
by ghostcoloured
Summary: Caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. Thinking you can outrun your demons by running into the unknown, instead you run straight into the arms of the devil.
1. Rainy Days, Mondays

Author's Note:

Hello all! This is my first fanfiction, I am receptive to critiques as I would like to improve my writing skills! I only own my original character. I plan to make this a multi-chapter story revolving around my character and the Sherlock cast. Set after The Reichenbach Fall.

I hope you enjoy!

/

It was the 8th of May in London.  
>The cool, heavy rain pounded the window like a garden hose, leaving long trails of water streaking down the length. No signs of letting up.<p>

It was her 24th birthday.  
>Instead of celebrating, she was viewing a flat share in Marylebone Village.<p>

"So, this is it then?" the young woman asked, large grey eyes peering out the window of the small, dimly lit bedroom to the rain soaked streets below.

"It's a tad tight but it really is charming, isn't it dear?" Mrs. Hudson, the owner of 221 Baker St. asked cheerfully.

A rhetorical question really.  
>Of course it was charming.<br>Very charming.  
>Terribly charming.<br>She was hardly even sure she could afford it yet.  
>"It's lovely...Perfect actually," she replied with full sincerity.<p>

And it was.

She had responded to the listing for the room with the intention of saving a bit of money.  
>Upon viewing the flat she was certain that there had been a mistake. Perhaps the landlady had meant £1500 and not £500?<br>But alas, the ad was correct.

The room was modestly furnished, containing only a queen sized bed, a small writing desk, and a bedside table. The walls were painted a dark navy that almost appeared black in the warm light cast from the table lamp.  
>She greatly liked the herringbone hardwood floors and the vintage moulding that the room featured. It was old and settled, surely steeped in a rich history and it felt perfect to her.<br>"And the washroom, it's just over here, you'll love this bit," the landlady trailed off as she motioned to the next door from the bedroom.  
>The younger girl stepped into the small wash closet and gave it a solid once over.<p>

"I even get my own washroom," she said, mostly to herself.

Yes, this was her favorite so far.  
>Here the walls were a dark teal color that reminded her of the color of an angry storming ocean.<p>

She briefly caught her reflection in an ornately framed gold mirror that hung above the sink.

The rich tones of the washroom nicely highlighted her ivory complexion. The soft, low lighting accentuated the gentle contours of her heart shaped face.  
>Tucking a softly curled lock of her copper hair behind her ear, she scanned the rest of the room.<p>

It was cramped yes, but what it lacked in size was made up for twice over by a deeply set claw foot bathtub.

Should she decide to rent the flat she could already imagine the unholy amount of time she would spend in that tub.  
>She loved baths. It was her own time, to clear her head from the daily bullshit. She could just slip her head under the warm water and drown out the rest of the world.<p>

"So how does this work then," the younger woman mused, stepping back into the upstairs hallway. "Him being out of town and all. He doesn't get a say in his new flatmate?"

The two women made their way back down the stairs to the living room. Mrs. Hudson gestured for her to have a seat while she prepared the rental documents (informal as they were).

"Oh he trusts my judgement love. In any case...if there were to be any qualms, it would most likely be you with him. He can have quite terrible manners sometimes."

The younger woman nodded, taking in her new surroundings. A human skull on the mantelpiece. Buffalo skull painted a glossy black...with headphones no less. She did love the wallpaper though even with...  
>"Are those bullet holes?" her tone was incredulous but not alarmed; much to Mrs. Hudson's relief.<br>"Like I said love, bad manners..."

By the end of the evening she had received the keys to her new flat, had drinks with her new landlady, and moved her precious few belongings in with her.

Coming from Montreal it would have cost a fortune for her to ship her whole household. She had reduced her belongings to two large boxes full, and sold the rest off before the move.

"It's nice though," she thought as she lay on her new bed, hands laced behind her head, tangled into her long copper locks.

Starting over somewhere new. Without all of her stuff. Away from all the problems she left behind.  
>Her coworkers, friends and family, lovers and exes. People and things that had become her identity for so long.<p>

She was completely alone.  
>Rather than feeling sad, she felt an odd sense of relief.<br>She finally had the opportunity for reinvention and she fully intended to make good use of it.

She reached for her MacBook from her bedside table and waited for it to boot up.

She spent the next several hours cleaning house on her computer.

She started by clearing out her photo cache, taking one last look at the past three years. Photographic evidence of her previous existence.  
>There were plenty of her with old friends. Out at parties. Work trips. Weddings, birthday parties, and the like. Oh and there it was...<p>

The one with her old boss and former flame. Their only photo together.  
>"Peter-"<br>The photo had been taken at their work Christmas party.  
>What had they been talking about? Perhaps the weather? The way that Susan from development desperately flirted with the new intern? The awkwardness of social gatherings?<br>Drunken co-workers with cameras insisting on taking photos.  
>He slipped his arm around her waist. Whispered quietly in her ear. She giggled.<br>He flashed the camera the most winning smile.  
>Oh how little she had known.<p>

Her face sunk into her palms and she raked her fingers up through her hair, scraping her skull. Cursing to the emptiness of the room.

She should be glad to never see these photos again.

She was nearly done when she made up her mind to wipe the entire hard drive after all.

Fresh start, she told herself; cringing as the final files pixelated and then disappeared entirely. She couldn't say it was painless, but she also wouldn't stand to be tortured by these sentimental fragments of her old life any longer.

After booting the computer back up, she made quick work of closing out all of her old accounts. Emails, social networking sites, blogs, even going so far as to delete her accounts from shopping sites. She cleared the Google searches and reset her browsing preferences.

Just to be sure, she typed her name into the search engine, just in case there was anything she had missed.

There wasn't. Nothing linked to her. She let out a bated breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding in. The relief that washed over her was immense.

Nothing was to be saved anymore.

She would never to provide the means to her own demise ever again.

Feeling satisfied with the work she had accomplished, she decided to draw herself a nice hot bath.

She turned faucet fully open, the tap letting out a loud squeal of pressure before pouring the hot water into the basin.

She sat perched on the edge of the the deep tub, as she waited for it to fill. Carefully toeing the water every so often to make sure the temperature was right.

She decided she would treat herself to some nice salt and oils for her bath tomorrow, but this would do just fine for now. She had a bit of shopping to do to get settled anyways.

The tub had finished pulling and she carefully slid her trim frame in, trying to see how little she could disturb the water.

Fully stretched out, she was pleased to see that her feet barely hit the end of the tub by the faucet. At 5'3" she considered herself to be fairly short, and yet all of her other bathtubs had felt so cramped compared to this one.

As she soaked she pondered over her new situation. Mentally checking items off of her list of to do's.

She already had found a place to live.  
>She made enough with her graphic design to get her by, and she could always take on more projects.<br>She had no friends or family here, and therefore her time was completely her own. She was grateful for that.

Her thoughts turned to her new flatmate. She furrowed her brow slightly, realizing how very little she knew of him.

She understood him to be some sort of private detective.  
>Mrs. Hudson had made him out to be at least mildly eccentric. And yes, those were bullet holes in the living room wall.<p>

Mentally she shrugged it off.  
>She was sure she could cope.<br>After all, how often do roommates really see each other anyways? Everyone is always so busy...

She remembered that Mrs. Hudson had written down the link to the blog that the detective's partner maintained. Perhaps she should give it a read.

After drying herself from her soak she slipped into the new dressing gown she had purchased earlier that day. It was short, hanging a few inches above her knees, made of black silk with a thick Venetian lace edging the sleeves. A present to herself.

She plopped herself on the bed and once again reached for her laptop. Typing in the link to the blog, she noted the time.

11:57pm

Happy Birthday Clementine, you get a brand new start.


	2. Dreams and Coffee

It was 2:30 in the morning when Sherlock Holmes stepped into his living room at 221B Baker St.

He had dark circles rimming the underside of his eyes and his hair and clothes were lightly disheveled.

It had been a nearly a week since he had last been able to shave and there was the soft shadow of new growth creeping onto his face.

He was glad that he hadn't seen anyone familiar between leaving the airport and making it home.  
>They most likely would have asked if he was feeling ill and then he would have had to field off all sorts of questions about what he had been up to this time.<p>

John especially would have made a quiet mockery about the degradation of his usually impeccable grooming standards.

He would fix himself right up of course, but it would wait until the morning. Right now, with his body pushed to the brink of collapse all he wished for were a few quiet hours of sleep.

He had just returned from the Czech Republic on an overnight flight and he was absolutely exhausted.  
>He was however, happy to have the case resolved. He would have hated to leave any loose ends untied.<p>

He had been on a reconnaissance mission for a wealthy German businessman who had fallen victim to a seemingly elaborate hacking scheme.

The German originally believed it to be the work of a scorned ex-employee of his. Sherlock had quickly determined that it had actually been the man's current mistress.

Though a cut and dry case as it was, it had taken quite a bit of effort to locate the woman in question as she fled the country at the prospect of the investigation.

But here, back in his flat, Sherlock finally felt at ease again and for once he basked in the quietness.

Usually the stillness would have driven him mad, however with as tired as he currently was it came as a welcome reprieve.

He moved into the kitchen deciding the pour himself a scotch before finally settling down on the couch.

Though he rarely drank, he always found it a fair reward for a job well done. And tonight in particular it was sure to help him fall asleep.

He drank slowly, relishing the taste of the sweet, astringent liquid against his lips. Almost immediately, he felt the tension in his shoulders ease and he felt himself slowly melting into the plush tufted leather of the couch.

He took in a deep, relaxing breath and gently sighed it back out. The sweet smell of peonies greeted his nostrils and he allowed himself a small upward curve of the lips. Yes, he was glad to be-  
>Wait, peonies?<br>His eyes shifted side to side, looking for the culprit. A vase of flowers, or...

Suddenly there was a distinct creak directly above him.

Sherlock shot straight up, still seated on the couch, but senses heightened.

He was very still for a moment. His brows creased deeply as he frantically pondered what would have made the sound.

Still sitting motionless, he heard the soft padding of feet across the hardwoods above him, and then the gentle shutting of the upstairs washroom door.

"Of course," he muttered, silently berating himself for being so jumpy.  
>He had asked Mrs. Hudson to find him a new flatmate, and she had clearly made good on her word.<p>

He heard the slight hiss of the upstairs tap turn on and almost immediately back off.

Getting water, he presumed.

He heard the unknown feet make their way back into the bedroom, and the gentle creak of the mattress as they settled themselves back to sleep.

Female then, he decided. Most men are heavier footed than that. And also the fragrance...

No matter, he thought. He was tired and he would most certainly meet his new flatmate in the morning.

He drained the last remaining sips of his scotch and slid the glass across the low coffee table.

Kicking off his shoes, he swung his long legs up onto the couch and settled himself underneath a light blanket.

He flicked the switch on the lamp beside him and allowed the darkness of the room to completely envelope him.

Remembering he was supposed to meet with John in the morning he reached for his mobile to set himself an alarm.

3 missed texts.  
>Two from John. Reminding him that they were going to grab coffee together.<br>One from Mycroft, asking him whether or not he had been able to find the German mistress or if he should require his help. A boastful display of how much power his position held, that he should know what his younger brother is up to at all times.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Cursing him under his breath.

He replied to neither.

Instead, setting his alarm and falling fast into sleep.

/

Clementine awoke at the first faint inklings of morning sunshine falling across her face.

It was such a lovely warm glow that cut deep shadows across the small bedroom.

The warm weight of the plush down comforter covering her prompted her to stay in bed just a little longer. After all, it was cold outside of the blanket, and she was still clinging to the final threads of lingering dreams.

She would probably forget them in the next few minutes, but for a moment she remembers a lush green field. Rolling hills at her back, a steep rocky cliff below her feet, and a gently rolling ocean as far as the eye can see. She peers over the edge, just enough to see the blue green waves dissolve into sea foam on the rocks below.  
>Something carries on the cool wind.<br>A voice, echoing her name against the sea rocks.  
>She turns her back to the sea.<br>Someone is there, but she can't see them clearly.  
>But they're watching her.<br>Calling her home.

She feels a sensation like falling and jolts awake.

She glanced to the window, wincing slightly at the glare of the sun through tiny water drops covering the glass. They ever so slowly crept their way down, the only remnant of the downpour from the previous day.

Wrapping the blanket around her, she took the few steps to window. She cracked it open slightly, letting the cool, fresh air lightly breeze into the room and chill her exposed flesh.

She was wide awake now, and pulling on some clothes. She chose a dark gray shirt with a fading image of an album cover, and a red pair of paisley patterned, velvet bell bottoms.

The bohemian look suited her well, but she just needed something to wear downstairs for the moment.

She grabbed a bag of coffee from her still packed luggage and proceeded down the steps to the main level.

She let out a small grimace at the 5th step down as it let out a loud resounding creak, announcing her presence to the whole flat.

She would have to see about getting that fixed up before her roommate came home from his travels she decided.

Quickly taking the final few stairs she proceeded to straight to the kitchen.  
>Padding past the living room, she took no notice of the man who was still fast asleep on the couch.<p>

/

Several hours later, Sherlock was still sound asleep on the living room couch, when a resonant creak came from the stairwell.  
>He stirred slightly, and rolled over onto his side, his eyes fluttering open just in time to see a figure moving into the kitchen.<p>

In the early morning light that came streaming in like ribbons he had to squint to see his subject through his still groggy, sleep filled eyes.

Her back was turned to him so all he could gather was the long copper tendrils that hung down to her mid-back, her short slim frame, and the most ridiculous pants he believed he had ever set eyes on.

He heard the coffee grinder power on and he flinched at the jarring noise, relieved when it finally powered off.

He then watched her work, setting the kettle and lining up a brown filter into the the Chemex pot.

She was just starting to measure out the ground coffee when he decided to announce his presence.

"Make enough for two, if you would," he drawled sleepily.


	3. Porcelain

Everyone is familiar with the sensation.

The rush of blood leaving your face is palpable.

Your stomach lurches and you feel as if you've just stepped off a cliff.

You may even notice your arms go numb momentarily.

The cause of this feeling has a wide range of sources, some of the most common are...

Being caught in a lie

Missing a step on the stairs.

Receiving unexpected, bad news.

Finding out that you're not alone...

Stifling the urge to scream, Clementine sucked in a sharp, ragged breath and quickly grappled for anything she could use as a weapon.

Spinning around, she was ready to launch her coffee mug at the source of the voice, only stopping short after realizing that her presumed attacker was halfway across the flat.

And that it just so happened to be her new roommate.

Thank god she had looked at the blog.

She brought her arm down and slumped slightly against the counter, bringing her free hand up to cover her mouth. She tried to take a calming breath.

"Jesus Christ," she hissed, looking up once again to inspect the figure across the room.

His long, lanky form was sprawled across the length of the couch. He was dressed head to toe in black formal clothes, though he appeared to have just woken up.

He looked terribly disheveled too, she thought.

"Sherlock Holmes, actually," he replied flatly as he moved himself to a sitting position.

She shot him a venomous glare.

He gazed back quizzically, cocking an eyebrow and pressing himself into the back of the couch, as if to put distance between himself and her wrath.

"You almost just had porcelain embedded in your skull," tipping her head back she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Oh, it wouldn't have hit me, your aim was way off." he said dismissively. His gaze rested on the offensive fabric of her pants.

She noticed, and shot him a look.

"I could try again if you'd like."

He stood. Slipping his hands into his pockets he sauntered into the kitchen, stopping less than three feet from her.

She stood facing him, reaching her hands back to grip the overhang of the kitchen counter.

His proximity was unnerving.  
>She knew he was studying her.<p>

"Mrs. Hudson said you wouldn't be back until next week," she said, her voice wavered just a little. She looked away, focusing her eyes on an imaginary object just past his elbow.

He stepped forward slightly, his eyes cast down, scanning her face and body for any information he could glean. Snappy little thing she was, he thought inwardly.

He found himself unable to assess much of anything useful, but her small pouty lips and the gentle curve of her body didn't go wholly unnoticed.

"Well," he replied coolly, "I apologize for the lack of warning. My business abroad wrapped up early, and I arrived home late in the night."

He had a good ten inches on her, and she found herself peering up at him. Up close she realized that he actually was quite handsome.

He had angular features and heart shaped lips. His eyes were icy blue, stunning.

They bothered her though, the piercing way they seemed to expose her. Prying her open bit by bit.

He was puzzled that this was Mrs. Hudson's choice for his new flatmate. She was strange in a completely different way than him.  
>He couldn't quite place what it was though.<p>

The dark edge of a tattoo on her left shoulder caught his eye. His hand reached out gently running his fingers along it, moving her copper strands out of the way for a better look.

A small waft of floral pervaded his senses. The fragrance he had smelled last night.

She drew in a small sharp breath, distracting him from his musings.

Too far.

He withdrew quickly.

He hadn't meant to invade her personal space.

Straightening, a quiet smirk crossed his face. He understood. She was intimidated.

"I don't believe I caught your name," he said, softening his demeanor.

"It's Clem."

"Cleménce? Clementine?"

"Clementine, but just Clem please."

"Mmhmm...I presume you just arrived from stateside?"

"Montreal, actually."

"I see. Artist, of some sort."

"Graphics." she replied shortly.

"Late twenties." Definitely, she has a degree. He thought quietly.

"Mid." Great, he thinks I look old.

"Oh?" Surprising, maybe you do look a little young.

"You can stop now." her tone was  
>flat.<p>

"Stop what?" he attempted innocence.

"Making your deductions." her shoulders broadened.

"Why?" he asked, shooting her a puzzled look.

"Because I know what you do for a living, you don't have to prove anything to me."

"No, you just don't like being read." he shot back quickly.

She stared at him blankly for a moment, trying to decide if he was for real. She wasn't quite sure what to make of him yet, so instead she turned around and resumed making the coffee.

With her back turned she made her best attempt at an apology.

"You'll have to forgive me." she paused, "You're right. I don't like being read."

"Duly noted," He stood staring at her for a few long moments before finally retreating back into the living room.

She couldn't figure out why he was getting under her skin so badly.  
>He flustered her.<br>She told herself it was the way he had stared at her pants with blatant disdain.

"What do you take in your coffee?" she asked, her voice bearing as much sweetness as she could muster.

"Two sugars please, hold the poison." he replied, picking up the front page from the previous day's newspaper.

She laughed. It was short, but unfeigned.

Hidden behind his newspaper the detective grinned a little.

Their previous tension began to dissipate.

"Reading my mind are you?" she quipped back casually.

"Bad habit, I suppose," he said, scanning the headlines for anything of intrigue.

She carefully made her way through the living room to occupy a chair by the fireplace. Snatching the crossword section from the table, she deposited the second cup of coffee in front Sherlock.

"You seem like a real prat," she said prosaically, her voice lending itself to amusement.

Sherlock looked up from his paper, taken aback at her casual honesty.

He watched as a small, candid smile crept it's way onto her lips, her eyes busy scanning empty word blocks.

"So I've been told," he replied. He noted that her tone was much different now, softer and relaxed.

They sat together in comfortable silence for a brief while, but before long Sherlock remembered John's text from the previous day.

"I have to go meet a friend this morning, please make yourself at home."

"Thank you," Clementine said, looking up from the crossword.

"Oh, and try not to throw anything at me upon my return."

He gave her a wink and a small smile before hastily excusing himself.  
>Clementine deemed the action quite unnatural coming from him.<p>

"No promises," she called after him. A touch of playfulness in her voice.

After he had gone, Clementine thought over their awkward encounter.

She was still mildly embarrassed for her part, but she was glad that it seemed they would be getting on well.

The thing Clementine couldn't wrap her thoughts around, however, was how her heart continued to race in his absence.


	4. The Weight of Objects (collision course)

After effectively grooming himself to appear as a decent looking human, Sherlock had hightailed it out of the flat, racing down the street to meet John.

He jogged nearly four out of the six blocks that it took to get to the cafe, walking the final two at a comfortable pace as to not look entirely disheveled.

He knew John had most likely arrived at the cafe early and felt a momentary pang of guilt that he had kept him waiting so long.

To be perfectly honest with himself, he had not wanted to leave. He had been thoroughly enjoying the silent company of his new flatmate.

He delighted in having new things to study, and with her head buried in the crossword he had finally been able to clarify a few things about her.

_She was definitely on the lower end of the 20 something spectrum, 23-24 he surmised. A graphic artist who was not out for interviews on a prime weekday morning, so she must be doing freelance work. Five feet three inches, roughly a hundred and twenty pounds, trim physique, slightly muscular build but not athletic. Natural redhead, doesn't freckle. Probably hasn't had a vacation in years, most likely because she'd been trying to prove herself as a hard working professional. Needed to make a major change in her life so she left her country to go abroad. No friends to stay with here, hence the flat share. Chose somewhere completely unfamiliar in an attempt to escape her previous life. Confirmed by the fact that she was not glued to her mobile phone, as most people who move away are constantly checking in with family and friends._

He also noted that when he had excused himself that she only had two more words to fill in on the word puzzle, and had completed the sudoku and crypto quote on the same page. Took her 12 minutes, fairly quick for an ordinary person.

He couldn't explain why, but that word kept going through his head like a personal mantra.

_Ordinary.  
>She's just ordinary.<br>Don't fool yourself, she's nothing special._

Still, he couldn't shake the impulse to be near to her. He had barely been gone from the flat and he was already wishing himself back there.

Maybe he just found her interesting.  
>Interesting with terrible taste in pants.<p>

He reached the door of the cafe, quickly he spotted John through the glass and strode directly to his table.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting," Sherlock said seating himself across from his friend.

John looked up from his phone, startled at his friend's sudden appearance.

"You always keep me waiting, the girl's come by twice for the order already, and here she bloody comes again," John said pointedly.

Sherlock smiled to himself. He knew that John wasn't really upset, and was indeed actually happy to see him.

A young server approached their table. She was 19 at the most with short cropped, spiky blue hair, and heavy eye makeup.

"Ready to order?" she asked, her tone was notably irritated.

"Yes, two coffees please, one black, one with two sugars, and one chocolate biscuit," John shot out quickly.

"Actually-" Sherlock began to interject, but the girl was already stomping away towards the kitchen.

John gave him a questioning look, Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.

"I already had coffee back at the flat," Sherlock said, brushing off John's unasked query.

"So...you're late for coffee with me...because you had coffee back at your flat?" John had his head cocked slightly and his eyes seemed to ask the question to the ceiling.

The girl was back quickly, clattering their coffees to the table just a little louder than necessary. John winced, Sherlock gave her a forced smile.

She shot them both a scowl before skulking away.

Sherlock thought carefully for a moment for the correct reply, not wanting to offend John. "Yes...my new flatmate made coffee this morning," Sherlock managed to drawl out.

John looked genuinely surprised for a moment, before remembering that Sherlock had been trying to fill the upstairs bedroom. His old bedroom.

"I see," John said, a touch of mock accusation in his tone, "So...he's nice then. He makes you coffee...you hang out," John pretended to clear his throat, "Forget your plans with me. Your best friend."

"John," Sherlock began seriously, "Don't feel like you're being replaced. She's just my flatmate, it's not even the same capacity-"

"Oh. My. God. Sherlock," John interrupted. "It was a _joke_- hang on a minute..._she_?" John's expression went from one of mock exasperation to undivided interest instantaneously.

"Yes, and like I said she's not-"

"No no no, you mean there's a living, breathing, actual female person? In your flat. Right now. And she just made you coffee?"

Sherlock looked on, doing his best to ignore John's antics.

"Yes?" Sherlock shrugged.

"How..." John began to muse aloud, but he could not seem to find the words.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow at him.  
>He wasn't surprised at John's reaction, women had never been a specialty of his.<p>

"She's a young graphic designer from Montreal. She's self sufficient, quick on her feet with impeccably good aim." Sherlock smirked to himself.

He had succeeded in getting a rise out of her, but she _would_ have in fact hit him smack in the face with her coffee mug.

"Well," John continued. "For her sake I hope she knows what she's getting into."

"Oh and what is that?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at his friend.

"Body parts in the kitchen, kidnappings, terrorist conspiracies, your brother's meddling-"

"She'll be fine," Sherlock replied flatly, interrupting John.

"-murder. You're right, what's there to worry about," John finished his sentence in a jesting manner.

"There are no pressing cases right now. Mrs. Hudson cleared out the fridge while I was away, and I'll tell Mycroft to stay far away." Sherlock said matter of fact-ly.

"Right," John said, hinting at sarcasm. "Because your antics alone aren't enough to send her running."

"Hmm, well they didn't send you running did they." Sherlock mused, taking a slow sip of his coffee. It wasn't a question. John had stayed. He had liked it.

Certain people are drawn to danger and excitement.

"You, took advantage of my boredom," John retorted hotly.

Sherlock considered this.  
>"I see...I wonder if she's bored?"<p>

The pair spent the remainder of their time in the cafe catching up.

John brought Sherlock up to speed on Mary's progress with her pregnancy, and Sherlock recounted his time abroad.

"So do I get to meet her then? Your new flatmate." John asked as they exited the cafe.

Sherlock smiled knowingly.

John was curious what type of woman his friend would be living with.

"Surely we have queries to sort through, casework...why don't you come up to the flat for a bit," Sherlock smirked.

As the pair made their way down Baker Street to the flat, Sherlock silently wondered if he would indeed send his new flatmate running for the hills.

He found himself hoping not.  
>Despite their awkward first encounter, he believed that there had to be more to her than met the eye.<p>

It was rare that he found himself wanting to be around people in general, John being a special exception.

But all morning he couldn't shake the flash of copper and stormy grey eyes from the inner labyrinth's of his mind.


	5. Strange Fiction

Clementine was working on her third cup of coffee when she heard the bottom door to the flat open and the muffled sound of voices.

_He's back already?_

She had been furiously working away at an ongoing design project, trying to distract herself from her encounter with the consulting detective.

He had been infuriating and alluring all at once, and she couldn't quite decide what opinion she held of him yet.

However, processing the approaching voices Clem felt a small rush of panic.  
>Time had clearly slipped away from her and she realized she was still wearing her clothes from the morning.<p>

_Good god, should I really care what he_ _thinks of me?_

She couldn't help herself, however.  
>In an attempt to avoid his scrutiny, she quickly snatched up her laptop and darted toward the stairs.<p>

She wasn't quite fast enough.

Turning the corner out of the living room she ran square into her flatmate's chest.

Sherlock let out a small grunt as her petite figure collided with his.

"Shit!" she gasped sharply. Trying to catch herself, she clumsily stepped backwards to find her footing.

"Careful!" instinctively, Sherlock reached to steady her, his hands deftly catching her around the waist and bringing her upright.

_Her heart stopped.  
>Or perhaps it had exploded. <em>

_No, probably just the caffeine.  
>She did love her stimulants...<em>

Eyes darting up, she was met once again by his piercing gaze.

_This really needs to stop happening..._  
>She could feel her cheeks redden and swallowed hard.<p>

His hands lingered perhaps just a little longer than they needed to, his fingertips fluidly sliding down to her hips before slipping off entirely.

The whole exchange lasted only seconds, but the softness of her body beneath his grasp electrified him. Blinking hard, he willed himself to clear his thoughts.

"Going somewhere?" Sherlock asked dryly, taking a step back. An odd sensation had overtaken his chest and abdomen. He could not define it's implication, and instead tried to ignore it.

Clementine straightened, trying to regain her composure.

She wondered how this man could make her feel utterly inept at social interaction. To call herself a people person might be a stretch, but as a generality she at least considered herself a successful communicator.  
>She was of course, beginning to have significant doubts over that.<p>

"Just going to change, actually. Wasn't expecting company." Clem replied cooly, trying not to break his gaze. Her fingers tapped a pattern against the shell of her laptop.

Sherlock snapped out of his momentary daze.

"Oh right. Clementine this is-"

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Watson," Clementine interrupted, sidestepping Sherlock and reaching her hand out to John. "And it's just Clem, if you don't mind," she said rolling her eyes in Sherlock's direction.

John met her handshake, shooting Sherlock a quick glance. He smiled.

"The pleasure is all mine, miss Clem."

John looked from Clem to Sherlock. His former flatmate's gaze was fixed upon the back of the girl's head. He seemed perplexed and John noted that his stance seemed rigid.

_Good god. She's a woman Sherlock. They are puzzles that can't be solved. They aren't meant to be._

John cleared his throat.  
>"Well, don't change on my account, we're just going to review some casework," He said kindly, trying to ease the tension in the room.<p>

"Oh I really should," she smirked, shaking her head.

John shot her a puzzled look, his arms crossing over his chest.

"Your friend hates my pants," she said quietly to John, turning on her heel and heading up the stairs.

"What?" His smile dropped. John appeared completely lost.

"I...I never said that," Sherlock quickly countered, eyes widening.

She rolled her eyes, "Oh, you didn't have to," she said dismissively as she reached the top of the staircase.

"I didn't-"Sherlock began defensively.

"I'll be just a minute," Clementine called out before closing the bedroom door.

John turned to Sherlock, his lips pursed judgmentally and his brow furrowed lightly.

"I never said that," Sherlock repeated again to John.

John shook his head at him, rubbing his temple. "You dick," his voice held mild disbelief.

Sherlock sighed defeatedly.

/

Upstairs in her new bedroom, Clementine silently chastised herself for her gracelessness around her new flatmate.

She felt absolutely rattled.

She began reaching around in her bags for some decent clothes to wear. Something that at least wouldn't draw the ridicule of the detective.

She quickly peeled off her clothes, making sure that they ended up in the laundry bag. After tugging on a pair of black skinny jeans, she almost reached for another band t-shirt, but thought the better of it.

_Screw it, I'm wearing all black today. He can't possibly find anything distasteful in all black. God, and there I go caring again._

She sat on the edge of the bed as she zipped up a pair of black ankle boots. Letting out a deep sigh she flopped onto her back, bringing her arm up to cover her face.

She took a few calming breaths and tried to make reason out of the chaos of her morning.

It struck her that it had been nearly ten months since her relationship with Peter had come to a crashing halt. Ten months without any human intimacy whatsoever, romantic or otherwise.

Could it possibly be that she craved companionship so badly that she imagined the attentions of her strange housemate?

She decided it was hardly likely that he would fancy some awkward, childish, and overall hostile excuse for a girl.

Oh and there it was too.

_Just a girl._

After all, he had to be at least ten years older than her. Probably more.  
>Surely he preferred women his own age. Someone more mature.<p>

Who wouldn't hurl a coffee cup at his face and had better taste in pants.

Yes, she decided. She had imagined every last bit of it. Furtive glances and his lingering touch had been a complete fiction made up by her own mind.

She felt an odd pang of disappointment.

_Well, at least now maybe I can behave like a human._

Lifting herself off the bed she inspected her appearance in the mirror.

_Yep. Just a girl._

Grabbing her daypack and throwing a blazer over her arm, she descended the stairs, hoping that this time she would make a better impression.


	6. Trouble Will Find Me

Authors Note:

Hello all!

I want to thank everyone who has read, reviewed, or followed the story thus far! I am so happy everyone seems to be enjoying it, it makes it really fun to write!

A quick update, at the start of the story I said the timeline was set after Reichenbach, I am changing it to be set after His Last Vow. I had not been able to watch the third season when I started writing this story, but it fits better for my purposes now.

Again, your support means the world to me, keep being awesome!

Are you ready for the story?

;)

/

"Boring, not that one."

He scrolls further.

"Not that one either."

Scrolling.

"Nope."

Scrolling.

"And no."

Exasperated.

"It's the housekeeper you thickheaded-"

"Oh my _god_,  
>Sherlock just pick one!" John cried out in frustration.<p>

"But they're all boring. Boring people with their boring problems in their boring lives. I need excitement!" He was up now, pacing back and forth by the computer.

John sucked in a deep breath.  
>"Excitement. You want excitement do you? The thrill of the chase?" He was glaring at the detective now.<p>

Sherlock stilled for a moment, taking in his friend's tone. He looked over to John, who was visibly perturbed.

John let out a frustrated sigh.  
>"It's been two months, Sherlock. When, are we going to talk about it?"<p>

Sherlock had been successfully avoiding this conversation. He had been dreading it, in fact. He needed more time to think things through. To formulate a plan...

They were interrupted by the sound of soft footsteps coming from the stairwell.

Sherlock seated himself at the computer once more, hoping to find a case worthy enough to distract himself and John.

John knew better, he caught Sherlock's eye with a raised brow. His message was clear.

_This isn't over._

Moments later Clementine came strolling into the living room.

"Hey there," John said cheerfully as Clem seated herself across from him.

"Hello again Dr. Watson...Sherlock." Clem greeted the men.

Sherlock had barely glanced up from the computer, nodding a greeting to her, but quickly making a double take once she was engaged in conversation with John.

_She looks nice, _he thought._ Very nice_. Though he smirked to himself noting that she had dressed herself head to toe in black. He knew it was deliberate and that it was her way of poking fun at him, as if to say_ "See, I can be boring just like you."_

Regardless, he couldn't help but notice how perfectly striking she looked sitting in his chair. The outfit favoured her curves well, without being obvious. He tried to brush these thoughts away.

_Too distracting, there's work to do._

"So you've read the blog then?" He overhead John ask Clem.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I glanced over it last night, it's a very entertaining read. Brilliant." She said with utmost sincerity.

John's face lit up and he seemed to puff up proudly just a bit. He sent Sherlock a smug grin.

_Oh just shoot me, _Sherlock thought to himself, shaking his head.

Clementine noticed their interaction and smiled to herself, glad to have found something she could vex him with.

"You haven't updated it in a while. Are you working on anything new?" she continued on to John.

"Well, I would be if Sherlock would just _pick a bloody case!_" John said loudly in Sherlock's direction.

"They're all dull," Sherlock moaned quietly.

"It's more dull waiting for something big to happen, just pick one dammit." John's voice was deadpan now, he was quickly losing patience with his friend's indecisiveness.

Sherlock leaned back in the chair, drumming his fingers on the top of the desk.

Yes, a case would help them bide their time.

"Let's have her pick one." Sherlock said abruptly jumping up from his spot at the computer.

"Me?" Clementine asked, incredulous.

"Yes, you. Come here," Sherlock demanded, motioning for her to take his spot.

Clem looked to John for acknowledgement.

He shrugged his shoulders, leaning over to grab the newspaper off the table. "Only if you want to."

She creased her brow, biting the corner of her mouth for a moment, before going over to the desk.

"If you say so," she replied settling herself in front of the monitor.

Sherlock stood close behind her as she began to scroll through the enquiries. Partially, he wished to see which ones struck her interest, but he mostly used his proximity to finally examine the tattoo on her shoulder. Since it was almost completely exposed by her camisole, he didn't feel intrusive in viewing it this time.

A solid black triangle, bordered by black outlined flowers twining around it. It was roughly four inches in diameter, the line work was very neat. Clearly the work of a skilled artist.

As a generality, Sherlock despised tattoos. He found them to be an indication of a certain quality of person; the troublemaker, the dangerous, or the weak of mind.

_Which one is she?_

"It's a cover-up, in case you were wondering." Clementine said impassively, breaking the silence and startling the detective.

John's head shot up from the newspaper and he looked curiously between Sherlock and Clementine.

"Pardon?" Sherlock was taken aback. He thought he had been stealthy enough.

Clementine smirked.  
>"The tattoo, it's a cover-up piece. The triangle covers the old one."<br>She continued to scroll through the emails.

John almost laughed at the surprise evident on his friend's face.

_He's not usually so obvious, he's slipping, _John thought as he scanned the headlines.

Sherlock looked down at her, slightly mystified at her candidness.  
>"And what was the old one?" He replied blankly.<p>

"Nothing of importance, obviously." Clementine smiled, still staring at the screen.

Sherlock considered this for a moment. He was genuinely curious about what it had been, but said nothing. He found it surprising that he actually thought the design to be attractive on her.

"Is that the only one then?" Sherlock asked, immediately regretting the question.

She turned slightly over her shoulder, carefully arching a brow.

"No," she turned back to face the computer and Sherlock was grateful that she didn't see the faint flush that came over him.

_What is the matter with me? _He wondered.

"Here," she pointed to the screen. "This one."

Leaning in over her shoulder, his arm brushed hers as he reached for the control pad.

Her pulse rocketed, but she didn't let on.

"But you haven't even opened it yet. Why this one?" Sherlock rolled his eyes at the girl. The subject line of the email had been left blank.

_Probably spam._

"Because there is no return address, it was sent anonymously, don't people _want_ you to respond to their queries?" Clementine asked, her voice tinged with sarcasm.

"And don't _you_ want to read it?" He gave her a puzzled stare.

"I will read it. I'll read all about it on John's blog. Once you solve it." Clementine stood up, smiling smugly she walked over to Sherlock's chair to grab her jacket.

John chuckled from behind his newspaper.

Sherlock took a couple of slow steps toward Clem.

"You pick a random query and you don't care to open it. You're afraid to get involved, aren't you?" He asked her accusingly.

Clementine's smile faltered a bit as she pulled her blazer on over her  
>shoulders.<p>

_Oh you have no idea._

Looking over at her flatmate, she tried to read his expression. He was still staring at her, expecting an answer.

_He almost seems disappointed._

Clem let out a sigh, smoothing her blazer and grabbing her daypack off the chair.

"I know what kind of trouble you two get into. I know what trouble _I_ can get into as well. I am a genuine clutz with a knack for fucking things up. Not exactly someone you want involved in your business, am I?" Clem asked, raising a brow at the detective as she slung her bag over her shoulder.

"Don't be silly, you'll fit right in," Sherlock retorted with mock assurance.

Clem smirked, and he afforded her a small smile.

He realized how unlike himself this was. With the exception of John he distanced himself from most people.  
>Something about this girl made him want to keep her close.<p>

Sherlock continued quietly.  
>"Look, you are clever and self sufficient. And should you choose to stay here you will find yourself involved at one point or another. That's not to say I'll be dragging you to the battlefield. We'll do our best to keep you out of too much trouble, but I need to know that you understand what you're getting into."<p>

She could tell he wanted something from her, an acknowledgement of sorts.

She was at a loss. It wasn't just that he didn't mind having her in his life.

_He was inviting her there.  
>Into the excitement.<br>Into danger._

So she nodded, a small assuring gesture. And for Sherlock it was in a way an indication of approval. A sign as if to say,

_I know what you are.  
>I know what you do.<br>I know the hazards of staying.  
>And here I am.<br>I accept._

He smiled at her, his bright eyes gleaming down at the fiery girl.

She returned his smile, briefly meeting his gaze. The intensity of his eyes overwhelmed her, so she quickly turned for the door.

"Trouble will find me," she warned as she made her exit.

"Yes I imagine so," Sherlock said quietly, his eyes trailing her out of the room.

After hearing the front door close behind her, Sherlock returned his attention to John, who was staring at him with a bemused expression.

"That was..._interesting_." John began, blinking hard several times.

"Pardon?" Sherlock tried to feign ignorance.

"Oh right of course," John cleared his throat, "You have no idea what I'm talking about."

Sherlock gave John a sidelong glance before slowly moving back toward the computer.

"She's very pretty isn't she," John said pointedly.

"Hmm...is she?" Sherlock replied, trying to sound bored as he settled back into the desk chair.

"You know she is, Sherlock."

Sherlock rolled his eyes, knowing John had found him out.

"I think you like her." John continued.

"Hmm..." Sherlock tried to ignore him as he searched for the email Clementine had picked for them.

John sat staring at Sherlock for a few moments. A small knowing smile settled on his mouth. It was rare that the detective ever appeared taken by a woman, and John appreciated the small moments of humanness displayed by his friend.

John's cleared his throat again, his face turning mildly serious.

"When are we going to talk about it Sherlock..." John looked pained, and the name slipped bitterly from his tongue, "Moriarty."

Sherlock sighed heavily, looking at John remorsefully. He opened the email.

"Evidently, right now..."


	7. Fortune Days

Sherlock opened the email, the content blank except for one link.

"John," Sherlock said quietly, "You'll probably want to see this."

John grudgingly went to stand behind Sherlock. He folded his arms across his chest, staring at the single set of letters on the screen.

CLICK HERE :)

"Ready?" Sherlock glanced up at John, who nodded in answer.

"Let's get this over with." John replied.

Sherlock clicked the link, instantly launching a video.

A familiar, but unwelcome face greeted them. He smiled.

Moriarty.

"Hello Sherlock. Remember me?"

The two men's faces turned to stone.

"Oh don't look so surprised.  
>You think you're the only one who can fake a suicide? Bravo, by the way. Quite the theatrics. You even fooled poor John..." he trailed off wistfully.<p>

John's gritted his teeth, feeling a quiet rage coursing through his veins.

"But did you _really_ believe I was gone? It's always been so easy to fool you. You were so distracted, trying to keep your little friends alive."

Sherlock looked to John, his eyes full of silent apologies for everything he had put him through.

"But you let me slip right through your fingers. Surely you wondered, at some point. You knew my body was never found. Gone before anyone could fetch it."

Sherlock leaned back in the chair, trying to remind himself that it didn't matter how he had faked it. He only had to worry about what his next move would be.

The man went on.

"You had to suspect it, you just had to. The great Sherlock Holmes?  
>You really think I'd put a <em>bullet<em> in my head?"

Moriarty shook his head.

"Nah...I think you knew. I think...you like having me around."

His voice switched from sing-song to deadpan, his sardonic smile dropping.

"Well, Sherlock. You'll get your wish. You'll be seeing quite a lot of me. Very soon in fact."

He stared directly into the camera.

"So go ahead now, and be honest..."

A self satisfied smile crept onto his face.

"Did you miss me?"

"NO WE FUCKING DIDN'T!" John yelled at the screen.

Sherlock flinched, startled at his friend's sudden outburst.

Moriarty smiled sadistically.  
>"Oh don't be angry with me, John."<p>

John's face dropped. He turned to Sherlock.

Sherlock grimaced.

"You can say something Johnny boy, this has been a very one sided conversation," Moriarty taunted.

"We didn't realize we were _having_ a proper conversation. Hacked into the webcam have you?" Sherlock asked, feigning boredom.

"Oh just admit it, you've missed my bag of tricks," Moriarty said as he shrugged his shoulders.

"Nope," Sherlock said assuredly.

John was seething.

"Yeah you did," Moriarty said convincingly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at his old nemesis.  
>"I see you're staying in London then."<p>

Jim Moriarty smiled and turned around to face the window.  
>"I do love it here. I'll stay until it bores me."<p>

The room the consulting criminal stood in was expensively furnished. Dark walls were contrasted by rich jewel toned furnishings and ample texture.

"Penthouse. North bank of the Thames, that's quite a nice view of the wheel you have there. Of course, you always had a penchant for nostalgia." Sherlock remarked sarcastically.

"Nothing slips you by," Moriarty said with admiration, "Except me of course," he added thoughtfully.

He grinned through the screen at John and Sherlock.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at the gesture.  
>The man would be the epitome of charm, if it weren't for his murderous tendencies.<p>

"Well...this has been a grand little chat, Sherlock. But daddy's got work to do now. Don't worry, I'll be in touch soon."

"You only ever seem to get in touch just to tell me you're busy," Sherlock said with mock bitterness.

"Oh , trust me Sherlock. You're always at the top of my list. _Always_."  
>Moriarty gave the men a dark smile.<p>

The screen returned to Sherlock's inbox.

John and Sherlock sat in stunned silence, trying to make sense of the criminal's return.

Sherlock's thoughts instantly turned to Clementine. He was immensely grateful that she had not decided to view the email after all.

Moriarty would surely delight in using her to torment Sherlock. He hoped he could keep her existence hidden from him as long as possible.

"What...are we supposed to do now?" John questioned, breaking the silence.

Sherlock was at a loss.

"I don't know," Sherlock replied earnestly, "But this was a bad time to get a new flatmate."

John looked at Sherlock, his face full of unease.

"It may be high time I have a little talk with my dear brother," sarcasm was evident in his voice, but he punched the numbers into his mobile nonetheless.

"You never ask him for help," John said, his voice laced with uncertainty.

He looked at Sherlock, a look of annoyance crossed his friend's face.

"Oh god," a smile formed on John's face and he laughed quietly, "You do like her a lot don't you?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes at John, "Mycroft! How are you?"

/

Less than three miles away, Jim Moriarty exited his flat.

He was feeling quite pleased with himself over his invasion into Sherlock's computer. Their faces had been priceless to him.

As he strolled out of the Victorian building his mobile chimed a text alert.

_Running late. Be there soon.  
>-sm<em>

Jim continued down the street, slowing to a more casual pace. He was in no rush now.

Passing a couple of university girls at the crosswalk, he caught them glancing at him. He heard their faint giggles as they walked away towards the tube station.

_Well, I must be looking rather good._

Indeed he was. Jim Moriarty had an immaculate sense of style, something that had always come effortlessly to him. Being filthy rich helped too, obviously. However, he could probably dress in the dark and still look nothing less than modelesque.

Today he wore dark denim, a crisp white tee shirt, and a grey tweed suit jacket complete with a red pocket square.

He knew though, even more importantly than his impeccable style, he possessed acute sex appeal and he practically bled charm.

He smirked, knowing even just those qualities made him a dangerous man.

He arrived at the cafe, taking a quick glance around before entering. No sign of his colleague.

He slowly sauntered up to the counter, ordering himself a small cappuccino.

The girl at the register appeared to be in her early twenties, with unnatural platinum blonde hair and wearing heavy eye makeup. She batted her eyes at him as she took his order.

_Desperate_.

He purposely brushed her hand as he passed her a few bills for the drink. She blushed heavily as she gave him the change and quickly began to prepare his drink.

Within a few minutes she had his order up. He returned to the counter and thanked her, making sure she saw him give her a once over. She was absolutely giddy as she turned her attention back to making drinks.

He smiled smugly to himself.  
>He wasn't interested in her in the slightest, but he did love toying with people. He took his drink and sat himself by a window, waiting for his colleague to show up.<p>

He caught the counter girl glancing over at him. As he picked the coffee up for a sip he saw a small piece of paper slip out from underneath it.

_Silly girl gave me her phone number._

He shot her a wink and a quick smile. She seemed satisfied and returned to work.

_Not even my type_, he thought blandly as he sipped his cappuccino.  
>He glanced around the cafe. It was the mid-afternoon, the place was relatively empty.<p>

Not very good for people watching.

There was a group of students occupying one of the tables near the rear of the cafe, a middle aged couple towards the front, and a few smattered in between, sitting alone.

A couple of tables away a younger woman was doing work on her laptop. She was completely absorbed in her project and Jim was able to observe her freely.

She was in her mid-twenties, a petite little thing. She had perfect pouty lips and a pale complexion. Her face was tilted down at her computer, so he couldn't quite see her eyes. She had one hand propped under her chin as she worked away.

A perfect heart shaped face.

_You are just darling aren't you._

He noted the lack of a book bag, she must not be a student. Maybe a young professional, she was dressed very nice too, he noted.

Jim unconsciously licked his lips.

He could be a real sucker for youth and beauty.

_He darkly wondered how delicious she would be, tied naked to his bed. What she would sound like screaming his name..._

His thoughts were interrupted when his colleague finally arrived.

"Jim. I figured you would have chosen somewhere more private," the man greeted him callously.

"Sebastian!" Jim was delighted to see the man.

"Seriously Jim, shouldn't we be somewhere less conspicuous," he continued quietly as he sat across from Moriarty, obstructing his view of the girl.

Jim frowned.

"Don't be silly, no better hiding spot than right under their noses," he replied chidingly, "Besides, the wheels are already in motion. After tomorrow I won't be skulking around in the shadows anymore."

He leaned over slightly trying to bring the girl back into view.

Sebastian nodded, but still appeared uncomfortable.

"And I as well?" Sebastian asked carefully.

"Yes, of course," Jim replied dismissively, "I can't have my best body guard locked up."

Jim watched as the girl gathered her belongings and stood to leave.

She noticed Jim staring at her as she slid her laptop into her bag, their eyes meeting briefly.

Hers were a most striking grey.

He gave her a small smile, knowing he'd been caught.

She glanced to either side, thinking that he must not be looking at her. She didn't give it much thought.  
>She quickly exited the cafe, Jim's gaze following her into the street.<p>

Sitting back in his chair, a look of disappointment settled over his features.

Sebastian turned to see the girl leave and smirked at the expression on his friend's face.

He cleared his throat.

"Well, now that I have your full attention..."

Sebastian proceeded to retrieve the documents from his briefcase, saying something or another about his meetings from earlier.

Jim wasn't paying attention.  
>All he could think about was the girl with the beautiful grey eyes and brilliant copper hair.<p> 


	8. Destroy Everything You Touch

Author's note:  
>Thank you all for your patience. This chapter was difficult for me to write. I had to make a decision as to whether or not Clementine would remain ordinary, without much of a backstory or whether I should expand on her past. I chose the latter. I hope you enjoy.<p>

Thank you for all of the reviews, follows, and favourites! You are all incredible!

/

It was nearly 5:30 in the late afternoon as John and Sherlock entered Mycroft Holmes opulent home office. The sun was just beginning to wane and it's beams fanned themselves across the rich furnishings of the room.

The elder Holmes brother had displayed an amount of hesitance over their request for a meeting on such short notice. However, he had cleared his schedule for the remainder of the evening nonetheless. Their impending conversation was well overdue, and Mycroft knew the reason for his brother's sudden correspondence.

It was rare that Sherlock ever contacted him, generally confined to the limited occasions that he required his brother's 'connections'. And though it would pain him to admit, Mycroft was secretly pleased whenever he could assist Sherlock.

"Sit down you two, tea is ready," Mycroft said lazily as the men entered the room.

John muttered a quick hello, seating himself next to the grand fireplace that seemed to dominate the office.

"Mycroft," Sherlock greeted his brother, casually strolling over to the double french doors across the room.

The office was situated adjacent to a small, cobblestone courtyard. Bordered by tall hedges, it contained a few flowering trees, a slew of various shrubs, and a large fountain in the direct center.

Sherlock gently pushed the doors open, allowing a soft breeze to cleanse the staleness of the room. He smirked as he sensed his brother's slight irritation. He always made himself right at home whenever he came around.

Sherlock closed his eyes, letting the smell of the garden and the gentle warmth of the sun permeate his senses. Inhaling deeply, he smiled to himself.

_Peonies._

"John. You seem well. Married life agrees with you? How is Mary these days?" Mycroft asked as he sipped on his tea.

"Very pregnant. With any luck we'll be proud parents of a watermelon no more than two months from now." John replied thoughtfully.

"Well, you have my precursory congratulations of course. I shall have to remember to send off a gift for your..._offspring_." The last word rolled of his tongue sourly.

"It's a baby, Mycroft. Not the devil." John said cooly.

"Aren't they one and the same?" Mycroft smirked.

John pursed his lips, trying to contain the insults he wished to sling at this man.

Though John was no longer wholly distrustful of Sherlock's older brother, his animosity for the man still surfaced from time to time.

"Why don't we just get on with it. We're here to talk about James Moriarty," Sherlock interjected suddenly, spinning around from the door and rejoining the room. He seated himself opposite of his brother.

"I know," Mycroft's voice lost it's severity, his face seemed almost sorrowful.

"Hmm...did he break into your computer too?" John asked offhandedly. As if computer hacking by a master criminal were the most natural hazard of their jobs.

Mycroft scowled.

"No," he replied sweetly, his eyes burning holes into John's, "He was _here_."

Sherlock and John sat in frozen, unwavering silence for what felt like a short eternity.

"How..." Sherlock could not find the words to finish the question that dangled from his agape mouth.

_He was here._

Such a simple statement, containing a million implications. Sherlock's mind raced, trying to make sense of it.

"Yes..._how_ indeed," Mycroft echoed his brother's unfinished question. "Suffice to say, not two hours ago, a member of the royal family, our minister of defense, and our favourite consulting criminal, sat where you sit." A look of disgust crossed the man's face, the very thought of his previous visitors creating a sour taste in his mouth.

"And?" A stunned John Watson barely croaked the word out. He couldn't even begin to fathom what this could mean for all of them.

_The safety of his wife and unborn child, his friends..._

Mycroft had never looked more apologetic, his face practically begged forgiveness before he even began the words.

"They've pardoned him."

Three words that had the power to crush their world.

Sherlock sat emotionless, his mind processing the awful news, grappling for a plan.

"Surely _you_ had nothing to do with this," Sherlock finally responded, his tone flecked with bitterness.

"I didn't. I spoke my piece. I told them that it wouldn't be long before he would do something to make them regret their decision." Mycroft masked his hurt at the accusation.  
>Obviously his brother had reasons to be distrustful of him, and release of a dangerous criminal back into London certainly didn't help his case.<p>

"But you signed the order, _brother_," Sherlock said flatly, his eyes fixed on the wall to the right of Mycroft.

"I had no choice, _brother_. You know where my orders come from. I don't know whether he bought them or threatened them, but you have to listen to me and listen well. This is the way things are. You have to leave him alone. Only when he slips up is he fair game."

"Only after he's brought the ruin of our country and killed every last one of us." Sherlock's words dripped with disdain and sarcasm.

"I've brought you back from exile once Sherlock. I cannot guarantee that for you a second time. You can't touch him. I'm sorry." Mycroft met Sherlock's gaze, searching for acknowledgement.

"So that's it then. We just wait for him to get bored and kill us. Well...this just sounds like an _excellent_ plan. BLOODY BRILLIANT!" John yelled the last bit as he jumped up from his chair, making for the door.

"Where are you going John?" Sherlock asked calmly, not rising from his seat.

"_I_ am going home to protect my wife and child, as it appears the British Government doesn't value their _safety_," John hissed as he shot Mycroft a glare with all of the malice he could fathom.

Sherlock nodded, and John left the two brothers alone.

"Well...you have certainly won his favour today," Sherlock mused sarcastically.

"My best people already have them under surveillance. No harm will befall John Watson and his family."

"Your best people are only loyal to the highest bidder."

"Well then it's good that I am the highest bidder, brother dear. And don't worry, I have surveillance on you as well," Mycroft said, pulling a file off his desk, "Though it appears I'll be needing to upgrade yours, seeing as your new flatmate will certainly draw some..._attention_." Mycroft smirked at the last word.

Sherlock pursed his lips, rolling his eyes slightly at his brother's implication.

"Yes, I've been informed that she's _remarkably_ attractive," Sherlock replied haughtily.

"You know he'll be thrilled with any new way to torment you, do try to keep your new love interest out of his sight for as long as possible," Mycroft drawled.

"I've barely known her a day, she's hardly a love interest."

"And yet here you are, asking for my help."

"You have played a role in the release of a criminal mastermind, the least you can do is help keep the casualties to a minimum," Sherlock quipped back snarkily.

Mycroft flipped open the file.

"Clementine Ofelia Solberg," Mycroft stated aloud as he removed a page from the black folder.

"Of course you already have a file on her. It's been nearly a day after all," Sherlock could never believe how quick his brother could be.

"I keep an eye on _all_ of the company you keep, dear brother," Mycroft said as a self satisfied smile settled on his face.

"As I am _well_ aware," Sherlock grimaced, "Find anything interesting?"

"See for yourself why don't you," Mycroft suggested as he passed the pages to his younger brother.

Sherlock began to scan the first page.

Name: Clementine Ofelia Solberg  
>D.O.B. 0508/1990  
>Current age: 24<br>Height: 5'3"  
>Hair: Red<br>Eye: Grey  
>Blood: -AB<br>Allergies: None  
>Vaccines: Current<br>Father: Edward Oskar Solberg(deceased)  
>Mother: Ofelia Airin Solberg (née Frostad)<br>(deceased)

Paper clipped to the front of the sheet was a small photo of the young redhead. Apparently snapped as she exited 221B that very afternoon.

_She is alarmingly striking, _Sherlock mused silently.

"Where's the rest of it then? This can't be everything," Sherlock said, looking at Mycroft expectantly.

Mycroft gave his brother a small, sly smile. He sat with his elbow resting on the arm of the chair, his thumb and forefinger propping his head up. He looked weary.

"That's all," Mycroft said assuredly.

"That's..._impossible_," Sherlock replied, shooting his brother a knowing glance.

"That's exactly what I thought, so I put in a few..._inquiries_. It didn't get me very far though. All of her records have been..._officially dissolved. _If you will," Mycroft replied, an amused expression crossing his face.

"Officially?" Sherlock furrowed his brow slightly.

"It would appear that someone with an awfully high level of government clearance has erased classified information regarding the girl and her family."

"So what do you suppose then?" Sherlock asked, processing the information.

"If it were my guess, I'd say it was for her protection. I can keep digging, if you like. But if there _are_ any skeletons in her closet, do you _really_ want to know about them?" Mycroft asked genuinely.

Sherlock pondered this carefully for a moment. Glancing back at the photo of Clementine he felt suddenly protective of the girl.

_It's her eyes. She exhausted.  
>I've never seen someone so young look so tired, so world weary.<br>She just needed an escape._

So he decided right then that he wouldn't press the details of her past. And the only bones he'd see would be the ones she bared freely to him.

"No, she clearly went through a lot of trouble to bury her past. I think given the circumstances we can at least afford her the courtesy of leaving it buried. My main concern right now is keeping a watchful eye on Moriarty," Sherlock answered dismissively.

"Very well. He is already under our close surveillance, the moment he makes a misstep we'll be prepared," Mycroft assured his brother.

Sherlock stood and reached for his coat. He rolled his eyes.

"I feel as if I've heard _that_ before," Sherlock replied placidly.

Mycroft chuckled quietly, and the two brothers shared a strained smile. Sherlock turned for the door.

"Do be careful though Sherlock, with the girl. She's damaged, and that makes her dangerous."

Sherlock stopped, glancing back over his shoulder to his brother.

"We're all damaged, Mycroft. You, me, and everyone we know. We are the danger. If we wanted, we could destroy everything we touch. But we don't, and that's what separates us from _him_."

Sherlock took his leave, and Mycroft was left in the silence of the office, the crackling of the fire the only interruption to his thoughts.


End file.
